


Star-Crossed

by CrafterOfWords



Series: A Very Fitzier Christmas [3]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Fitzcro, Fitzier, Fluff and Smut, Holidays, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Year's Eve, Snow and Ice, Strip Chess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21992920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrafterOfWords/pseuds/CrafterOfWords
Summary: After their time together on Christmas Day, James Fitzjames returns to Erebus only to find himself snowed in with the most brutal storms they've yet encountered in the Arctic. The storm breaks just in time for New Years Eve, and Francis Crozier has a surprise in mind.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier & Commander James Fitzjames, Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Series: A Very Fitzier Christmas [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578832
Comments: 17
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of the wind gusting outside Erebus felt more like a feral animal screaming in pain than any phenomenon of the weather. James Fitzjames paced back and forth in Erebus' wardroom, occasionally glancing out the row of windows at the storm that raged just outside. In all the time they had spent in the ice, this was by far the worst storm they had encountered. The temperatures had dipped well below zero, bottoming out at thirty below, and the snow had fallen in sheets, covering everything around them until the landscape looked more like rolling hills of white cotton than the jagged blue ice formations that had surrounded them for so many months.

The wind had created drifts that towered over the side of the ship, and he had overheard the men talking about constructing makeshift sledges to slide down the large drifts which had piled up against the starboard side. James had put a stop to these plans, however, citing the danger of the sub-freezing conditions and reminding them of the limbs that had already been lost due to the cold. 

It had been five days since Christmas Day, when James had gone to Terror and spent the evening with Francis. Since then, he'd thought of it nearly every waking moment - the warmth that had engulfed him the moment he'd stepped inside Francis' quarters, the chill that had tickled its way up and down his spine when they'd touched, the thrill of unwrapping the other man like the most elegant present, and the complete and total satisfaction of lying together in Francis' bed, tangled up in one another, exhausted but utterly sated. It had been the most beautiful evening he had spent in years, and he had been sorely tempted to stay with Francis all night. However, in the end he'd succumbed to the call of duty and returned to Erebus late that night. As luck would have it, the following day he had awakened to a blizzard, and he'd not been able to make it back to Terror since. 

James had never enjoyed feeling confined, even in the best of circumstances; he was a man of action, always preferring to be in motion, rather than remaining cooped up indoors. But this was a torture far beyond his usual cabin fever. The whiteout conditions had rendered communication of any kind impossible. Even the flags were worthless in the blinding snow, so James had been entirely out of contact with his co-commander-come-lover since the beginning of the storm, and he was slowly going out of his mind with his restless thoughts and growing anxiety.

What was going on aboard Terror? Was everyone safe? Had Tuunbaq made an appearance? And what of Francis? Did he think of James? Was Francis just as desperate to see him as he was to see Francis? Had he been having second thoughts about their state of affairs? Did he still desire him, after their brief time together? The questions came one after the other, and he had no outlet for the frenetic energy that had been building up inside him like steam in a pressure cooker. 

Now, James flopped down in his chair at the table and began absently moving the pieces around the chess board Francis had given him. At least he had this one piece of Francis to occupy himself, though playing against himself was not ideal. The two empty squares felt conspicuously vacuous, like the empty pit in his stomach when he thought of Francis' absence. It was ironic, he thought, that out of all the perils they had faced in the ice, it could be the simple, maddening isolation that would finally be his undoing. 

"Check mate," he said to himself. He'd been practicing, and had nearly mastered the King's Gambit strategy, along with the corresponding defense, and he could hardly wait to challenge Francis to a match to show off his prowess in the game. If only this blasted snow would-- 

James suddenly turned to look out the window as he registered a brand new sound. After five days of constantly howling wind, groaning ice, and pounding of giant snowflakes against the sides and windows of the ship, there was suddenly... silence. He leapt up from his chair and hurried to the window, wiping away the fog inside and pressing his face to the glass to get a better look outside. Was it possible? It had felt that the snow would never end, but... Yes. The wind had died down, and there was no longer any snow falling, save for the occasional puff of downy flakes that drifted off the deck railing. Before he could stop it, James let out a cry of victory, but then instantly spun in alarm when he heard a knock at the cabin door. 

"Enter," he said, trying to regain his composure, so that he didn't look like a lunatic.

Mr. Bridgens opened the door and stepped tentatively inside. "Captain Fitzjames, I beg your pardon for the interruption."

"Not at all. What is it, Mr. Bridgens?" he asked, clasping his hand behind his back to try and appear casual.

"I see that you've already made the discovery yourself, Sir, but the snow has stopped," he said, casting a quick glance toward the window. James had always gotten the impression that Mr. Bridgens was perpetually nervous about something. There was a certain sadness that followed him like a shadow. Not like Francis' bouts of brooding melancholy, but simply a sense that this man had seen things - experienced things - that had left an indelible mark on him. 

"Terror is signaling," he continued. "Captain Crozier sends word that he will be tasking his men with clearing a path between the ships, and requests that we do the same, thereby meeting in the middle."

"Excellent notion," James said, his heart rate rapidly quickening at the thought of finally being able to see Francis again. The fact that Francis had been the one to come up with such a plan boded well for him, and he couldn't help feeling a sort of giddy excitement at the thought that Crozier had been missing him, as well. 

"Thank you, Mr. Bridgens," James said. "Signal back to Captain Crozier that we will do as he has suggested, and instruct Lt. Le Vesconte to give the order. I want all men on duty in slops with picks and spades, ready to begin digging within the hour."

"Very good, Sir," Bridgens said, dipping his head deferentially, and backing out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, James did a little victory jig before heading to his cabin to put on his cold weather slops and prepare for the work ahead.

* * *

The men had worked diligently, taking it in turns to plow through the snow which had piled itself several feet deep - more, in some drifts - in the direction of Terror. Mr. Collins had alternated in a rotation with two of the ship's boys in the crow's nest, shouting and signaling directions for the men, to be sure they did not veer off path. Now, after a straight six hours of toiling with their picks and shovels, the men were beginning to hear the promising sounds of the Terror party, just beyond a thick ridge of snow.

James had been at the forefront of the digging party for the entire six hours, despite the officers continually urging him to take a break. Whenever one of them confronted him, he simply waved them off with, "Nonsense! I've had five days of forced rest, and I will not be made to return to Erebus now."

By now, though, even James had to admit that he was exhausted, so once they could tell that the Terror men were close, he took a few steps back and allowed his crewmen to finish the pathway.

James wiped the sweat from his brow before it could freeze on his skin, leaning back against the snow bank to catch his breath. The men seemed to have gained a second wind, and were shoveling with renewed vigor as they grew nearer to the other party. When, at last, a hole appeared in the snow, with lantern light just beyond, the men on both sides broke into a round of loud cheers that echoed through the night. 

James suddenly felt inexplicably nervous. Would Francis be among the first ones through the tunnel? Was Francis even with the men? Perhaps he'd been a fool to go so mad with excitement and determination to be at the head of the digging party this whole time. He swallowed, his gaze fixed on the hole as it grew, revealing dark navy uniforms on the other side. 

"Fall back, men! I'll not have anyone losing a hand or foot to a rogue shovel!"

James' heart jumped. It was Francis, and he was close. Of course, he would be. Why had he ever doubted? He cleared his throat before addressing his own men.

"Careful, men. Slow and steady!" he shouted, though he wasn't sure it did any good. They were caught up in the excitement of having accomplished their goal, and James realized what a boost of morale it had been for them to have had a mission that was achievable. They had worked admirably, never backing down, and had successfully overcome this hurdle. Their expedition, on the whole, had been such a disappointment to that point - his connection with Francis notwithstanding, of course - and the men deserved this opportunity to celebrate a victory, however small.

When the last of the snow had been cleared, the men on both sides once again sent up a cheer of triumph. The two crews merged, appearing like two armies charging into battle, but meeting in hugs and cheerful greetings instead of with swords and muskets. The whole time, James stood still, his eyes scanning the scene for any sign of Francis. 

And then, suddenly, he was there.

James thought he'd been prepared to see Francis, but the initial sight of him gave James such a thrill that he thought his legs might give out from under him. He comforted himself with the acknowledgement that he had just finished doing manual labor for six hours straight, after all. No one could fault him for feeling weak, or even faint after that level of physical stress. 

Francis was bundled up in his slops, propping himself up on a spade that was jutting up from the ground. James hoped that Francis hadn't been shoveling all that time, as he had. Francis, though admittedly in excellent health, was still 17 years James' senior. 

Their eyes met and they held one another's gaze, smiling silently. Francis gave him a salutary nod, and James nodded back. He was struck with the ridiculousness of it - of the need for such cool formality, when they had been so intimate with one another only a few days ago. But the men could never know what had happened between them, so they would have to maintain this charade, at least for as long as they could.

James pushed himself off the snow bank and took long, casual strides toward the other captain. There was a fire burning in his belly and what he wanted was to hurl himself at the other man and kiss him full on the mouth, but he knew he could not. So, he gave Francis his best smile and extended a hand in greeting. 

"James," Francis said as he clasped James' hand and gave it a firm squeeze, patting him on the back with his other hand in a sort of half-hug. 

"It's good to see you again, Francis," James said, trying his best not to allow the lunatic grin he knew was hiding within him to spring to his lips. "I thought we'd never be through with this infernal snow!"

"Aye," Francis said, shaking his head. "It's been a beast of a storm, to be sure." 

James finally released his grip on Francis' hand, feeling slightly awkward and unsure of what to do or say. He was acutely aware of the men around them, and even though no one appeared to be paying any attention to the two captains, suddenly everything that sprang to his mind felt inappropriate or dangerous. What had they ever talked about in the past? He leaned forward slightly so that he could whisper in Francis' ear. 

"Would that I had stayed in your quarters Christmas night."

Francis' eyes widened in surprise, but then his lips tugged into a broad smile and he nodded. 

"Aye, that would have been a fine judgement on your part, Captain Fitzjames," he said, loud enough for the men around them to hear, though when he was sure that no one was looking, he gave James a wink.

"I had hoped you might join me for a game of chess tonight," James said. 

"I would be honored, James. But I haven't brought my chess men with me. And besides, I fear I'd be ill company tonight. Six hours of shoveling snow does have a way of tiring one." He gave James a knowing smile, and in that moment, both men understood that the other had toiled the entire time with the goal of being reunited once more. 

James dipped his head slightly, stepping as close to Francis as he dared. "Do not ask me to return to Erebus alone, Francis, I beg you," he said under his breath, a mild note of panic creeping into his voice. "I shall go mad if I am made to wait another moment to touch you again."

Francis placed a steadying hand on James' shoulder. It was almost a fatherly gesture, but it made James feel weak with longing. "I would not ask it of you if it were not necessary, James," he said, his voice soft and steady. "Tomorrow is New Year's Eve. As you came to Terror for Christmas, I propose that I come to you tomorrow, so we may welcome the new year together."

James remained silent, his eyes pleading with Francis to reconsider. After all the hours he'd just spent breaking his back shoveling snow, the realization that they would need to be separated again so soon felt like a blow to the gut. All he could think of in that moment was curling up in Francis' arms and falling asleep together, waking in the morning, side by side, rubbing the stiffness from their sore muscles before rising to face the day. 

"James, please," Francis said, now with supplication in his voice. "You know that I would much prefer to be with you tonight, but look around us. We are hardly given the luxury of privacy, and though you deny it, I can tell that you are just as weary as I. Go back to Erebus and get a good night's rest. Tomorrow evening I shall return, with your chess men, and we will pass the evening together. I swear it."

James sighed resignedly and nodded. "Very well, Francis. But know this: I shall burn with longing for you this night."

"And I for you, James. If it were possible, I would never be separated from you again," Francis replied, leaning forward and dropping his voice. He was so close, and it was torture for James not to lunge forward and capture his lips in a kiss. He could do it. The men and the Admiralty, and all of society be damned. But Francis seemed to read his thoughts and, with a subtle shake of his head, took a step backward. 

"Tomorrow night, James. I will come to you. Tomorrow."

James set his jaw and nodded, forcing a smile. The irony of the statement was not lost on him; he had said this very thing to Francis on Christmas Eve. Very well. There was nothing to be done but wait.

"Until tomorrow, then," he said. "I shall eagerly await your arrival."

"I shall make it worth the wait, James. I promise you," Francis said, sending a shiver of anticipation rippling over James' body. He nodded, holding Francis' gaze a long moment before both men turned to make their way back to their respective ships. 

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

For all his claims of not requiring rest, James Fitzjames had fallen asleep nearly as soon as his head hit the pillow that night. In truth, he had been utterly exhausted, and when he awoke in the morning, he knew he'd been foolish to beg Francis to return to Erebus with him. 

The two of them seemed to be taking turns as the responsible party, and on that particular night, James had behaved like an overtired toddler, insisting tearfully that he was not tired even as he fought the sleep he so desperately needed. 

Now, having slept like the dead throughout the night, he sat up in bed with a groan. Every muscle in his body felt like it had been pulled taut like the strings of a harpsichord, and there was a dull throbbing in his lower back. Still, nothing could dampen his spirits when he recalled that today was New Year's Eve. Tonight, he would see Francis again - in private and unhurried. 

James' longing for Francis had not been solely sexual in nature. Yes, he had longed for the physical pleasure that they'd shared on Christmas night. But even more than that, he missed the sense of easy acceptance and mutual respect that he'd found with Francis. _He missed his friend._ There was an emptiness that now lay in his core, making him feel hollow and frail. Now that he had finally been cast that life line, James felt a certain desperation to cling to it. 

Was he falling in love? He couldn't be sure, but it certainly felt that way, by his estimation. The thought made him restless and nervous. James wasn't sure that he'd ever truly been in love before, these new emotions felt so powerful and dangerous that all the other risks he'd taken throughout his life seemed to pale in comparison. 

Standing to his feet, James stretched languidly, cringing at the burn in his tired muscles. Dressing quickly, he gathered himself as best he could and made his way to the mess for morning inspections.

Upon conferring with Mr. Reid, James was glad to hear that there had been no great change in conditions overnight. Both the ice and the level of precipitation (or lack thereof) had remained constant. The winds had died down as well, leaving the path they had cleared the previous night unhindered, and although the temperature would not reach anything close to a melting point, it had, at least, risen to a point where the danger of instant frostbite was no longer a major concern. 

James did his best to remain focused throughout the day, meeting with his officers and making his rounds, but his mind constantly wandered to Francis and the night ahead of them. More and more of late, he had become impatient with the tedious business of day to day life on a Royal Navy vessel. It was as if he'd been functioning as an automaton, going through the motions of his duties day after day. But now he had been awakened, and all the mundane chores that had so occupied his days to that point no longer mattered in the slightest. Not when his entire being, both body and soul, had been set ablaze with this newfound passion. Now, the all-consuming forces of desire and yearning had taken over. 

Yes, James Fitzjames was forced to concede that he was, in fact, in love. The thought both invigorated and terrified him, for to love could mean the heights of ecstasy, but could just as easily mean despair. Furthermore, given that the object of his desire was a man, the risks were exponentially greater. But it was far too late to think on such things. Whatever his fate, James was consigned to it; he would give his life for Francis Crozier.

By late afternoon, the level of nervous energy thrumming through his veins was nearly unbearable. James made his excuses to the officers, informing them of Francis' pending arrival later that evening, and leaving instructions that the two of them would be in conference together, and were not to be disturbed. Then he retired to his quarters, where he paced what floor the small square footage allowed, taking deep breaths in attempt to calm his nerves. 

His gaze repeatedly darted over to the chess board, which he had relocated to his private cabin immediately upon returning to Erebus the previous night. His dark eyes lingered on the two empty squares, and he felt another wave of anticipatory exhilaration crash over him at the thought of Francis bringing with him the two small ivory pawns that James had so lovingly carved from his own family silverware. It was as if he had carved the chess men from a piece of himself. In a way, he supposed that he had. 

James had just paused before his mirror for the sixth time, straightening his uniform and smoothing down his hair when he heard a knock at the door. His heart jumped, lodging itself firmly in his throat as he hurried to the door and opened it. 

There stood Francis Crozier, straight and tall, clutching the handkerchief in which James had so carefully wrapped the two chess pawns. James let his eyes rake over the other captain before leaning out the door and looking in both directions. Satisfied that they were perfectly alone, James reached out and yanked Francis inside, closing the door with his foot as he drew the other man forcefully to himself and kissed him hard on the mouth. Francis went rigid with surprise, but quickly relaxed, slipping his arms around James and returning the kiss with equal hunger, a soft moan muffled between their mouths. 

"I have missed you damnably, Francis," James said, his voice low and hoarse, when they pulled back, both flushed and slightly breathless, 

"And I, you, James," Francis replied, leaning in to steal another quick kiss from his lips before disentangling himself and walking over to the chess board. He removed the two pawns from their cotton cocoon and places them gingerly on the board before turning back to James. 

James watched him curiously, wondering what would come next. He very much wanted to undress Francis slowly, as they had done before. But he would be equally content with a mad frenzy of passion, as long as the scene ended with the two of them naked and in bed together. However, to his consternation, Francis seemed to have other ideas.

"I know what you are thinking, James, but we have all night, and I thought we might enjoy a game of chess before we partake in any other... carnal delights," Francis said, meeting his gaze.

James frowned. Yes, he had been looking forward to a game of chess, but _after_ they had sated themselves on each other. Not before. Francis seemed to sense his disappointment.

"Don't be cross, James. I think you'll enjoy this game more than you may realize. I've created some new rules, just for us. Come. Have a seat, and I'll explain the game to you."

James did as he was instructed grudgingly, positioning himself on the opposite side of the board from Francis. "I do understand the rules of chess, Francis," he said, slightly ashamed of the obvious pout he heard in his own tone. "I've been playing chess my entire life, after all."

"Of course you have, James," Francis said. "But what I have in mind for us tonight is a slight variation on the traditional game. Tell me, James, have you ever heard of strip poker?"

James furrowed his brow in confusion. "No, I have not. But what does it matter, when we are clearly not playing poker, but chess?"

Francis gave him a meaningful smirk and tipped his head slightly to one side. "Very well, James. Have you ever heard of 'strip chess?'"

Suddenly, the gears fell into place in James' mind and his eyes widened. "Oh..." 

Francis nodded, pleased to see the realization dawning in James' eyes. "The gameplay is very much the same, but when you lose a piece, you must remove a piece of clothing. If the queen is captured, you must remove two."

James swallowed and nodded, quickly seeing the merit of such a game. He shifted in his chair, adjusting his pants to allow for the tightness he already felt growing there.

"Very well, Francis. You take the opening move, since you're playing white," James said, anxious to get started at once. He already knew that he would likely not win this game. The mere thought of watching Francis slowly removing one article of clothing after another was already making it nigh impossible to concentrate on strategy.

But Francis shook his head. "No, James, I insist. You take the _dramatic opening shot_." He gave James a playful grin and sat back in his chair with his hands folded across his chest in an almost challenging demeanor. 

James arched a brow at Francis, then looked at the board. The opening move was always the scariest, but he thrived on the thrill of it. His planned strategy was the King's Gambit, and without thinking too much about any other option, he reached out and slid his pawn two spaces forward, exposing his queen. 

"There it is, as predicted," said Francis. Then under his breath, he added, "Melodramas, indeed..." as he slid his opposing pawn forward to meet James' in the middle.

"It was a valid observation at the time," insisted James, feeling a bit defensive. It had been months since he'd thought of the squabble they'd had over Francis' inclination to the dramatic, and though he now wondered whether there may have been deeper feelings at play beneath that constant antagonism between them even then, he knew he had to try and focus. 

He slid the bishop's pawn forward to rest beside the first. If he were to defend against the gambit correctly, Francis would take this second pawn, thereby beginning the disrobing process. James decided that he had never felt quite so good about sacrificing a pawn as he did in that moment.

As predicted, Francis took James' pawn with a flourish of his wrist. He gave James a significant look, his pale eyes sweeping over James' body from head to waist. "I'm not altogether certain this is a fair match, James," he said. "Since you insist upon wearing three times as many layers as the rest of us."

James laughed and shook his head. "I'm not wearing any more layers than you are today, I dare say. I've been indoors all day, and to be frank, I didn't want to hinder you undressing me quickly." He felt his cheeks warming, despite the cool way he spoke the words. Somehow, saying them aloud felt much more risque than simply thinking them. Francis' eyes widened and his grin stretched wider. 

"Well, that is good news, indeed! Very well, then. What will it be? Your cravat? Your jacket?"

James swallowed as his hands drifted to his neck, his fingers nimbly tugging at the decorative knot at his throat. Once undone, he slipped the black satin free and held it out to one side, pinched between thumb and forefinger. Holding Francis' gaze, he released his grip and allowed the scarf to drift dramatically through the air until it landed on the floor. 

James could practically see the hunger in Francis' eyes as they followed the scrap of fabric until it disappeared from view, below the table. The knowledge that he could ignite such desire in the other man with such a simple gesture was absolutely intoxicating. With a triumphant smirk, James dropped his gaze to the board and slid his bishop three spaces forward left, so that it sat in a row with the other pieces.

From this point, James was unsure of how Francis would proceed. As a captain, Francis was ever the cautious and protective leader, but whether this instinct would translate to his chess game was anyone's guess, and James had growing suspicions that Francis' instincts in matters of the heart were far more reckless than those in his duties as an officer with the Royal Navy. 

James was reminded suddenly of the night that Francis had confessed to him the reason he had taken this commission in the first place. It had all been for the love of a woman - Sophia Cracroft. He hadn't given much consideration, until that moment, to what a passionate, dedicated lover Francis might be. He wondered whether Francis still desired her, and felt jealousy instantly curl itself into a knot in his stomach. Francis was relentless, but he was also loyal and true. Surely he would not have given himself to James the way he had, if he'd still been in love with Sophia. Would he prove to be so relentless in his pursuit of James? This thought quickly negated the former, giving him Pleasurable chills, and he had to stifle a visible shiver.

Francis moved his queen in a diagonal path all the way to the edge of the board, putting James' king in check. He glanced up at Francis with wide eyes, nibbling at the inside of his cheek. It was a bold move, indeed, and it felt portentous at that moment. Of course, there was no way Francis could have discerned James' train of thought, but it did signal that he was not beyond taking a risk to attain the prize set before him. 

James glanced over the board, considering his next move. Normally when playing chess, his mind for strategy worked like a well oiled machine. But just now, his gears were not turning quite so freely. He moved his king one space to the right, putting him out of imminent danger, and marveled at the fact that Francis already had him on the defensive. 

After a few minutes of play, James was the next to score, claiming one of Francis' pawns with his bishop. He gazed at Francis expectantly, wondering what article of clothing he might remove first. 

"Well, Francis? What will it be?" he asked, trying to keep from biting his lip in anticipation. He expected that Francis would remove his own cravat, as James had, but instead, he began to unbutton his jacket. And yet, the movements Francis made were not a simple matter of unbuttoning. Francis continued to steadily hold James' gaze as he slid each button free, giving the action a feeling of intimacy. Slowly and intentionally, he pressed each shiny brass bauble down into its buttonhole, until it dramatically popped free on the other side. Each extraction was like it's own tiny ejaculation, and by the time Francis had reached the buttons at his waist, James was squirming uncomfortably in his chair, a thin sweat glistening on his forehead. 

Finally, _finally_ , Francis slipped the jacket off his shoulders and let it fall away to hang limp over the back of the chair on which he sat. James had not often seen Francis in his waistcoat without his jacket, and he had to admit that it was very sexy. He wondered whether Francis had ever thought the same of him, but pushed the thought aside and cleared his throat. "Very good, Francis. Your turn to play, then."

After that, the game seemed to stretch on interminably with no pieces taken. They took turns as the aggressor, each placing the other in check, only to be thwarted again and again. They were both too skilled at the game to lose many pieces, and James was becoming impatient. Finally, he purposely placed a knight in a compromising position, hoping that it would not be too obviously set up. Immediately, it was taken by one of Francis' rooks. 

James had been thinking all the while about what piece of clothing he would remove next for the greatest effect, so he was well prepared when the time came. Standing from his chair, James ran his hands suggestively down his sides, dipping beneath his trousers to pull loose the drawstring that held them cinched around his waist. With a grin, he pulled the fabric loose and pushed his pants down around his ankles. He bent down to pull the hems free of his boots and then stepped out of his pants, leaving James standing in his flannels. They hung low around his hips, clinging to his groin and thighs. Once again, he saw desire burning in Francis' eyes, and he sat down quickly before his body could betray his own arousal. 

Scanning the board, it became obvious to James that Francis had not expected him to make such a foolish move. He had sacrificed his knight, but when Francis swooped in to take the knight with his rook, he'd left his queen fully exposed. James looked up at Francis, and saw the moment that he'd realized the error of his ways. James took the queen with his bishop and sat back in his chair with satisfaction. 

"I believe that means you must remove _two_ items," he declared smugly.

"Indeed," Francis said, clearly irritated with himself. "Well, then..."

He leaned over and unbuckled his boots, then toed them off, kicking them out of the way. "Does that count for two items?" he asked.

"Not a chance, Francis. You should know better than that. The boots count as one unit. Now, what else?"

Francis sighed, but did not argue. Instead, he went about removing his waistcoat and draping it over the back of his chair along with his jacket, then quickly returned to the game, placing his king out of harm's way.

James leaned forward and studied the board. After taking Francis' queen, he had some vague hope of actually winning the game. But a moment later, his attention was distracted as he felt a socked toe traveling slowly up his leg, beneath the table. His head shot up and he caught a glimpse of Francis' sly, curious expression. He looked like a devious schoolboy as he continued to let his foot just barely graze James' calf, up to his knee, and back down again. James cleared his throat, unsure of how to respond. Part of him wanted to tell Francis to stop - that he couldn't concentrate with such attentions being paid him, but the other half wanted to leap across the board and straddle him on the spot. Finally, he decided to do neither. With a hard swallow, he silently picked up his rook and moved it three spaces forward.

"Reckless, James," Francis chided, clicking his tongue against his teeth. 

"I hardly think that..." But Francis had placed James in check with his bishop before he could finish the thought.

"Damn..." he grumbled, frowning as he studied the board. Francis had achieved his goal, using the distraction to coax James into making a foolish mistake. There was nothing to be done but to move his king to safety, so that was what he did.

Game play resumed, with each man losing a few more pieces. How many had been intentional and how many had been legitimate was anyone's guess. James had lost his boots, his jacket, his waistcoat, and his socks, and Francis was down to his undergarments, top and bottom, and socks. James, feeling mischievous, took a page from Francis' book, unfastening the collar buttons of his shirt and lightly tracing his throat with his fingertips when he knew Francis was watching. He could feel the weight of those blue eyes following his fingers as they traced the tendons in his neck and dipped into the hollow spot between his collarbones. Francis, in turn, took to casually biting and nibbling at his own fingers, pretending to be preoccupied with a hangnail, but occasionally giving one of his fingers a provocative suck for good measure. 

James licked his lips. The game was dragging on far too long, and his body felt tense and hot and restless.

"I think, perhaps," said James, when they had only a handful of pieces left to each, "we should up the stakes."

"Oh?" Francis said, his brow arching. "How do you propose we do that?" 

"A game of diversion," James said. "During each of our turns, the other may do whatever he sees fit to form a distraction."

Francis swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing as he contemplated the proposal. "Well, James, that sounds... _ahem_... Yes, that does sound like a fine idea, indeed," he finally said, his voice cracking halfway through. "I suppose it is my turn?"

"It is," James said and, with a wry smile, he slunk out of his chair and crawled beneath the table. 

James could tell that Francis was momentarily confused until he knelt between Francis' knees and slipped a hand up inside his flannel pant leg, massaging the bare calf beneath. He could feel the muscles in Francis' leg tense under his touch, and when he leaned in, resting his head on Francis' opposite thigh, he felt him flinch. 

"Do concentrate, Francis," he hummed from his position between his knees. "I would hate for you to lose another article of clothing." Carefully, James turned his head and pressed his lips to Francis' inner thigh. He bit down loosely on the thin fabric and gave a gentle tug. Francis swore under his breath, and James could feel his blood pumping harder and faster as his lips trailed higher. 

"Alright, alright, bloody hell. I've made my move," Francis stammered. 

James crawled out from under the table, quite pleased with himself. It wasn't until he'd situated himself in his chair to study the board that he realized Francis had left his own seat and was now positioned behind him. Before he knew what was happening, Francis' hands were snaking around his shoulders, gliding over his chest, and his lips had found James' ear lobe, sucking and nibbling at it. James felt a shudder work its way over his body as it became clear that this was going to be even harder than he'd realized.

James scanned the board, but every time his eyes landed on a possible move, Francis moaned softly into his ear, his fingers fluttering over James' nipples, which were hard enough to be felt through his shirt and undershirt. He needed to finish this game _quickly_. He considered moving his king into the line of fire, but knew that Francis would call him out if he did such a thing. 

Francis' hands had now moved down to his waist, dipping dangerously low, one hand palming James' growing arousal through his flannels, but remaining stationary there. It was maddening, having Francis so close and not doing anything about it. He squirmed, moving his hips to try and make contact, but Francis pulled away every time. 

"Damn it! Fine!" James finally exclaimed, shoving his last pawn two spots forward. He spun around, ready to capture Francis' lips with his own, but the man had already rounded the board and taken his seat.

James growled in frustration. How could he top that? Very well. Two could play at this game. Slowly, he slunk back under the table, casting a devious glare at Francis before his head sunk out of view. This time, he did not waste a moment with Francis' legs. Instead, he went straight to his crotch, untied his long johns at the waist, and shoved the fabric aside. 

"James, what are you..." Francis began, but before he could finish, James had pulled his half-erect member free and had begun nuzzling it, kissing and licking. Francis' question melted into a sort of strangled groan, and James was vaguely aware of his hands gripping the edge of the table. Nearly instantly, he had hardened fully beneath James' grinning lips. One of Francis' hands moved to James' head, strong fingers tangling in his hair. James' eyes closed as he registered the simmering need conveyed through that grip. He felt a nearly unbearable urge to take Francis fully into his mouth and pleasure him right then and there, but he stubbornly refused to give in.

"Please do take your turn, Francis," James murmured, his lips grazing Francis' heated skin. "I would prefer not to keep you waiting too much longer." His tongue peeked out from between his lips, and he swirled it around the tip, careful to keep his touch light - a whisper of a tease. 

This time, Francis let out a long string of profanities. His erection throbbed against James' tongue, and he continued his tease, gently rubbing the tip of his nose along the shaft, peppering the silken skin with feather soft kisses, reveling in the way Francis’ hips began to squirm, seemingly of their own accord, desperation building. 

"I do apologize if you're finding it difficult to concentrate, Francis," he said, taking great care to be sure that his warm breath danced across Francis skin. "Have you taken your turn yet?"

Francis answered by swearing again, and James laughed. "You _could_ forfeit the game, you know. Just say the word. I will have won, but I'll make it worth your while..."

"No!" Francis insisted. He was a stubborn man, for certain, but then so was James. It was why they'd remained at loggerheads for so long.

"Very well," he said, and went back to administering the most gentle of caresses.

Moments later, amidst another string of profanities, Francis declared that he had "damn well made his move," and James climbed into his chair once again, reluctantly leaving the warmth of Francis' groin. He was every bit as aroused as Francis was, and he had already decided that, if Francis had not compromised his king by now, that he would sacrifice his own and be done with it. 

James glanced over the board, and Francis once again moved - albeit much more awkwardly than before - to stand behind him. But this time, Francis took the concept of distraction to a whole new level. Leaning over James' shoulder, with one hand resting on each of his thighs, Francis began whispering into his ear, detailing the most explicit sexual fantasies James had ever heard. 

"First, I shall bind your hands and feet to the bed posts. You should know that in my days as a sailor, I have learned how to tie the most unyielding of knots," he was saying, low and breathy in James' ear. "Then I shall blindfold you with your own cravat, so that you'll not know what I'm about to do. When one sense is snuffed out, the others are heightened, you know. Once I am certain you cannot escape, I shall take my time in removing every stitch of clothing from your body. I shall use my teeth… slowly, deliberately, until you are begging me to touch you. Think of it, James. Imagine what I could do you, prone, bound, and naked on the bed, fully at my mercy…" 

James blinked, his brain short circuiting. "That's not fair, Francis…" he said, but his voice was hoarse, and he wasn't sure that Francis had even heard him. James could practically feel the rope around his wrists and ankles - could imagine the heat of Francis' gaze on his naked body. Yes, he wanted to know what Francis would do to him… He desperately wanted to know… His eyes slipped closed and he leaned back slightly, all thought of the game abandoned as he gave himself over to the fantasy.

"But I'll not touch you, James. Not in earnest. Not yet. Instead, I shall fetch a feather duster from the ship's hold and drag it lightly over every inch of your exposed skin, following with my lips...my tongue... my fingers, teasing your most sensitive parts until your entire body is quivering with desperation, covered in gooseflesh and your cock is strained to the point of bursting, dripping with need, and you are screaming for me to fuck you into next week. And then do you know what I will do to you, James?"

It was too much. James could barely breathe for the pounding of blood in his ears and the throbbing in his groin. With a dramatic sweep of his arm across the table, he sent the remaining chess men flying. "You win," he growled, swiveling in his seat and gripping Francis by the shoulders. They were both breathless already, nearly beside themselves with need, and for a moment they simply stared at one another, panting and flushed. Then their lips had crashed together and they were stumbling backward to James' bed, ripping the remaining clothes from each other's bodies and falling back onto the mattress. There was no time for preparation, and judging by his own state, James knew that the moment they touched, they would come undone, so he clambered over Francis and pressed their bodies together.The mere feeling of skin against skin sent arousal rocketing through his system, and he began to rock his hips, grinding against Francis with a frenzied need. The sounds coming from Francis were enough to drive him out of his mind, his hips bucking upward, struggling to gain friction, his rough hands sliding over James’ exposed skin as they kissed and nipped and whined, writhing helplessly against one another in a mad dash to their climax. James dipped his head, kissing Francis' neck as he reached down to take hold of their erections, pushing them together tightly as they moved, and moments later they were both spilling onto their stomachs, backs arching, James covering Francis mouth with his own to swallow the cries of pleasure that neither could hold back. 

Once the moment had passed, James collapsed on top of Francis, gasping for breath, and Francis encircled him in his strong arms. James trembled as the aftershocks of his explosive orgasm played over his nervous system, but Francis held him close, whispering softly into his ear, apologizing for the harsh words he'd said in his effort to make James lose control.

"Well..." Francis said softly, once they had caught their breath, "That isn't _quite_ the way I envisioned this game ending, but I believe it is safe to say that this was even better."

James chuckled breathily. "You never cease to amaze me, Francis," he breathed. "Just how did you expect that it would end? With a glass of sherry and a leisurely stroll around the deck?"

"Alright, James, there's no need for the sarcasm," Francis said, but there was laughter in his voice. "No, I simply didn't expect to reach... _quite_ that level of desperation."

"Ah, well… I suppose I may have played a very small role in our arrival at such an end. But, Francis… I do hope you will stay a while longer. That was over far too quickly."

Francis drew back to look into James' face with his brow arched. "It's New Year's Eve, James. Do not think for a moment that I will be parted from you before midnight, at the very earliest!"

James felt relief and happiness wash over him, and he leaned in to kiss Francis again, this time slowly and tenderly. 

"Francis?" he said, sliding off of the other man to nestle against his side once the kiss had broken.

"Yes, James?" Francis said dreamily.

"I... there's something I wanted you to know..." James bit his lip, wondering whether to speak the emotions he felt welling in his chest, threatening to overflow like water over a dam.

Francis rolled onto his side to face James and lifted a hand to cradle his cheek. The look in his eyes was one that James had not seen before, or at least had not consciously noted. It was not the burning desperation of passion that he'd seen moments earlier, nor was it the flare of anger, which he had seen in the past. This was a more tranquil, more steadfast depth of feeling, and it took his breath away. 

"You can tell me anything, James," Francis said. "Do you know that? Anything at all."

James swallowed, fighting to control his reckless emotions. "I do not know what fate may befall us, Francis. I do not know whether we shall ever discover the passage, nor whether we shall even return to England, ever again. But there is one thing I _do_ know, and I would have you know it as well."

Francis gazed steadily back at him without a trace of apprehension or doubt. He gave a subtle nod of his head, encouraging James to continue.

"Whatever happens to us, and wherever we may find ourselves, I desire nothing more than to find myself with you by my side, Francis."

"Oh, James..." Francis said softly. There was no scorn in his words. No mockery. Only warmth. He blinked, and James felt sure that he was battling the same depth of emotion as he, himself. 

"I suppose what I am trying to say, Francis, is that... I would pledge myself to you, for the foreseeable future, and beyond. Whatever may come - whatever fate may befall us... Would you do me the honor of standing by my side? Not as co-commanders only, but..." He paused, unsure of the words to use, but Francis seemed to read his thoughts without him ever having to speak them. He blinked, sending hot tears sliding down his face as he nodded. 

"Yes, James," he whispered, "Yes. With all my heart."

James let out a sound that was half whimper, half sigh as he pressed their lips together once more. And when he pulled back, he whispered, "I love you, Francis. I think that's what I've wanted to say all along. I love you."

Francis gazed back at him, smiling softly. "And I love you, James."

The answer had come with no hesitation - no reticence. James could hardly believe the ease with which he'd spoken it. He reached over and slipped his fingers into Francis' silky hair, cradling his head gently as he leaned in and kissed him again, their hot tears mingling on damp cheeks as their bodies relaxed against one another. 

Francis draped one leg over James', pulling him close as his hand drifted up and down James' side. His fingertips lingered briefly at the scar that James had spoken of so many times, before drifting downward to trace the outline of his hip bone, making him shiver. 

James drew in a shaky breath, pulling back from the kiss but keeping their foreheads together, eyes closed. He couldn't remember when he had ever felt so comfortable being naked in the presence of another person, be it male or female. Always, he had sought to cover himself - to hold his secrets close to his breast, never to be seen in full. Never to be known completely. And yet, here and now, all he wanted was to be laid bare before this man - to be open and vulnerable and transparent, until he was known completely and without reservation. His dark eyes opened to find Francis gazing back at him expectantly, and his heart fluttered in his chest. 

Already, James could feel his body coming alive again. Slowly, he let his own hand drift down Francis' body until his searching fingertips reached their destination, and he gasped at the realization that Francis' desire was also being kindled again. 

"Francis…" he breathed, that one word heavy with question. 

Francis answered by leaning in to kiss him and pressing his body as close as he could. Pulling back just barely, he whispered and James' lips, " I told you that I would stay 'til midnight. I do not know how long this old body of mine will cooperate, but as long as I have the strength within me, I am yours to do with as you will."

* * *

The next several hours passed in a blur of passion and tenderness with brief intervals of respite when their bodies were too sore or too tired to continue. They played another game of chess, which Francis won - this time without stripping - and then they returned to the bed and lost themselves in one another once more. 

When midnight arrived, the sounds of laughter and cheers of jubilation from the men rang through the ship, but James and Francis remained where they were, snuggled up together in peaceful silence. 

"The men must be wondering what's become of their captains," James murmured, his lips brushing lightly against Francis' forehead. 

"Aye… I imagine they are," Francis agreed, though he made no move to pull away. 

"Do you think they'll suspect anything amiss?" he asked, feeling a whisper of unease at the back of his mind.

"I doubt it," Francis said, stirring slightly and pulling the blanket up around their naked bodies. "But if they do, we'll simply deal with whatever comes, as it comes. We are still the captains, after all. If we are firm and sure with the men, they will fall in line."

James bobbed his head in a slight nod of agreement. Of all the reckless deeds he'd undertaken over the course of his life, this one could possibly have the most lasting - and most devastating - consequences. And yet… none of that seemed to matter. After all, throughout his entire life, the vast majority of his actions had been motivated by vanity. And here, they were at the end of vanity. 

"How shall we keep this up, Francis?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling, his fingers carding through Francis' hair. "It shall have to be a great secret."

"Indeed…" Francis said, his voice growing softer and more distant as he edged nearer to sleep. "But aren't all great love affairs secret in their beginnings? Recall the tale of Romeo and Juliet. Mr. Shakespeare would not have had a leg to stand on had he not had the notion of secret, forbidden love upon which to wind his tales."

James considered this. "Perhaps…" he conceded. "Star-crossed lovers… Is that what we are, Francis?"

He felt a puff of breath against his chest as Francis chuckled. "Yes, James. That's exactly what we are." He lifted his head to look into James' face and smiled, and somehow that smile sent every anxious thought flying from his mind. 

"Yet even star-crossed lovers are lovers, still. And I wouldn't have it any other way."


End file.
